


broken arms and mini fridges

by thesummerpalace



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Canon Jewish Character, College, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesummerpalace/pseuds/thesummerpalace
Summary: pov you are a jewish-brazilian business major at harvard and you have just given your best friend a handjob in his dorm room and are dealing with the result
Relationships: Eduardo Saverin/Mark Zuckerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	broken arms and mini fridges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kazutoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazutoes/gifts).



> a pre-canon markuardo angst fic & the aftermath of[ don't look down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621551)
> 
> . __

It’s done. Eduardo wears a proud grin as he fixedly studies his best friend. Mark’s sitting next to him on the bed, blinking rapidly like he does when he’s worked up, his lips parted in what feels like a combination of numbness and ecstasy.

“Mark, you okay?” Eduardo starts, an almost condescending air in his voice.

There’s a naive bewilderment in Mark’s eyes. An innocence.

“I’m good.” Mark’s voice breaks as he says it.

Eduardo nods, still smug. He’d gotten Mark, rigid, pretentious, _neurotic_ Mark to fall to pieces for him. To be utterly controlled by nothing but his touch.

Mark’s not processing it. The bliss and newness of it all consumes him. He just stares; down at the floor, then straight ahead, then at his duvet.

“You don’t have to be nervous. Think of it as if your arm was broken or something.” Eduardo offers.

Mark narrows his eyes.

“My arm’s not broken.”

“I know, I’m saying if it were, I would do that for you. So think of it like that.” Eduardo clarifies, endeared by his friend's incomprehension of things like this.

“Okay.”

Mark looks pensive.

“I wanna try something.” He manages out.

“More?” Eduardo pleads with God that Mark wants to touch him, to do _anything_ to him, as he's pretty sure this is the horniest he's ever been and Mark hasn't even cared to notice.

Mark shakes his head. Eduardo looks into his eyes, awaiting an answer.

Mark starts to lean in, slow and meticulous. It seems this is his way of asking. Eduardo waits for him to come close, then eagerly locks their lips. Mark emits a dissenting ‘mm’ noise like he wasn’t ready, but he likes it. It’s a problem, Mark thinks, that he likes it. He reaches out and clutches Eduardo’s arm as he eases into their kiss, Eduardo intertwining his hand in Mark’s. Then, at once, something sets off in Eduardo. He doesn’t know if he’s feeling aversion or discomfort or excessive enjoyment or Jewish guilt or all four combined in some fucked up smorgasbord of reactions, but he pulls away.

The initial whirlwind of adrenaline in Mark's stomach mutates into nerves when Eduardo suddenly stops. He mentally notes how when they disconnected it felt like their mouths were unsticking like the Harvard Hillel magnet on Dustin’s mini fridge. They felt both wet and dry at the same time. The fridge and the musing about his parched mouth makes Mark think that he needs water. It’ll be a good diversion, too, he figures, as he silently gets up and grabs a bottle of Dasani. It’s not his favorite brand, just what the hallway vending machines are stocked with this year. Unscrewing the cap and sitting down at his desk, Mark shifts his focus. He’s just going to flip a switch and ignore it for tonight. He won’t dwell. Eduardo will.

“You should probably just go, Wardo.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Eduardo doesn’t move. His mind still races with how Mark tasted like Red Vines and energy drinks and how he smelled like that cheap Polo Blue cologne some relative gave him for Chanukah and he thinks is much nicer than it really is. Cologne’s not something Mark cares enough to know about the way Eduardo does, among other superficial things.

Dustin bursts in through the door. Zero warning. It’s pure luck he didn’t get back earlier; he never gives notice.

“Wardo!” He exclaims, dropping his backpack to the floor.

“Hey. Well, I was actually going, so.”

Eduardo motions to the door.

“No, dude, really? Come here.” Dustin opens his arms for a hug. It’s just how he is.

Eduardo’s hit with a strange wave of bitterness. Mark was so unaffected, so casual, really _too_ casual. The guy’s got a knack for seeming like he’s just been coding nonstop for all eternity. He sits there, typing away like nothing happened. Eduardo kicks himself for pulling away, wanting nothing more than to turn back the clock two minutes and feel the rush of their kiss, even if it meant Dustin walking in on the whole ordeal. Social conventions and privacy aren't high priorities for him right now. His sexual frustration tops the list. Eduardo thinks he wants to make Mark jealous, which when he rationalizes it sounds ridiculous to him, because why would hugging Dustin, the energetic, zany bastard who's the favorite pledge at fucking AEPi ever mean or _be_ anything. They hug. Mark looks up and stares as Eduardo rubs his back.

A congenial ‘bye, man’ and Eduardo’s on his merry way.

“I guess he and I are close friends now?” Dustin comments, both a little dumbfounded and a little flattered at their prolonged embrace. It’s not weird to him, or romantic, obviously, that’s not even a thought present in his mind. He's affectionate the way a lap dog is affectionate.

Mark spins around in his chair and promptly removes his headphones and sets them down.

“Not that close.” 


End file.
